A.N. Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to leave a review. Your words were so encouraging.
Thank you also to Susan for the beta. Any mistakes left are mine because I insist on a highly original mixture of British and American spelling.
Chapter 2
Reese Hughes entered the observation room in the Violent Crime unit with a deep scowl on his face, which only intensified as he caught sight of his suspect on the monitor. He dropped the file he was carrying with a loud slam on the table.
"What the hell happened to him, Bill? I thought your men would be more professional than that."
The man handcuffed to the chair was barely recognisable as Neal Caffrey. His usual dapper, self-assured bearing was entirely absent as he sat hunched and motionless; impeccably styled hair was now unkempt, with a large area plastered to his head by what looked like blood. His normally animated features were devoid of expression, their marble vacancy marred only by the livid bruising which heated his left cheekbone, scraping up the temple and disappearing into the hairline.
Seaton waved a dismissive hand before sliding the file towards himself. "He resisted arrest. I have a room full of witnesses."
"Neal Caffrey doesn't resist arrest," Hughes stated bluntly.
Seaton scoffed. "Next you're going to tell me he doesn't hurt people either. Yet, you're down an agent. Either this leopard is going for an entirely new fashion look, or you never really knew him that well in the first place. When we arrested him, he didn't just resist, he went berserk. It took four agents to take him down."
Hughes glanced once more at the screen. Neal still hadn't moved, his dead stare directed at the table. "I want to talk to him."
"It's not your case, not your department," the other man pointed out.
"No, but it's my consultant, my agent, and my mess." Hughes knew he could go over Seaton's head, appeal to his fellow department head, but he was hoping to keep this unofficial. "Has he given a statement yet?"
"He hasn't said a word since we arrested him. He hasn't even lawyered up."
More uncharacteristic Caffrey behaviour. Neal was normally a fountain of words, the persiflage of flirting and willful misdirection raining down indiscriminately with the esoterica of art and finance. The only person who had been able or willing to keep up with that lightning, mercurial mind was Peter Burke - his own keen intelligence an unlikely match for the younger conman. It was an improbable partnership, yet it had proved remarkably effective in the months since Neal's release from prison. In fact, in some strange gestalt effect, the whole department had benefited.
Hughes was unsure how he felt right now. Peter was not only his lead agent, he was also his friend. If Neal had betrayed and killed him, the Captain would single-handedly ensure that capital punishment was restored in the state just so he could pull the switch himself. However, he couldn't bring himself to believe that that was the case. He had no intention of sharing his reservations with Seaton, though.
"You know, a good lawyer will probably get him off. You've got no real physical evidence to connect him to the murder - no blood stains on his clothes, no gun powder residue, and no weapon. Your case would be stronger if you got a confession, and he's more likely to talk to me."
Clearly recognising the merit of the argument, Seaton waved a magnanimous hand. "Have at it," he invited.
Neal showed no reaction as Hughes entered the room closing the door gently behind him, so the Chief took the opportunity to study him. The young conman looked even worse in person than he had on the monitor, the shocking contrast between the ashen gray of his skin and the bright red and purple mottling more obvious.
"Caffrey?"
Neal turned in response to his name, and, hardened veteran though he was, Hughes' breath caught in his throat at the haunting anguish in those intense blue eyes. For an instant, there was no spark of recognition, then Neal attempted to surge to his feet, but the chain aborted his movement halfway, and he subsided with a grimace of pain.
"Is it true? Peter. Is it true?"
He looked so damned young and lost, so different from the brash conman Hughes was used to that the Chief found himself convinced of his innocence. No one was that good an actor. But, remembering their audience, he forced himself to ignore the appeal in those eyes. He sat down opposite Neal with some deliberation and opened the file. He could feel Caffrey tracking every movement. Then, he started spreading the crime scene photos on the table between them. He didn't have to explain where they were taken, he knew how much time Neal had spent in the Burkes' house, how easily he'd integrated into the warmth of that family.
"Oh, God." Neal turned impossibly paler and reached an unsteady hand towards a particularly gruesome picture of bloodsplatter on the couch; his hand hovered uncertainly before retracting to shield his face in an awkward gesture of distress.
Suddenly, he bolted upright. "Elizabeth?" He answered his own question a beat later. "No, she's with her sister. Does she know?" Again, the desperate plea tempted Hughes to spill his guts, to offer some form of comfort, but he restricted his answer to a simple affirmative.
"Yes. I spoke to her on the phone, and she's coming home." He omitted the fact that, when he'd told Elizabeth who had been arrested for the crime, she had actually cursed at him, telling him to do his job properly and find the real culprit.
For a moment there was silence as both of them contemplated the effect of this news on Elizabeth, then Neal's bloodshot gaze was drawn reluctantly but irresistibly back to the pictures. The extent of overturned furniture and broken ornaments suggested Peter had fought back hard. But one anomaly struck Neal and, swallowing hard, he asked, "Is this where they found...him?"
The question was pained but natural, containing no hint of artifice, and it answered the final doubts in Hughes' mind even as he avoided a straight answer. "Where were you last night?"
It was clearly a struggle for Neal to cast his mind back. "Elizabeth had left town." His voice had taken on a flat, neutral tone, very precise and controlled, that somehow made his grief more distressing. "So Peter and I went out to dinner. Afterwards, we just...walked around for a bit. He invited me back to his place, you know, to watch some game or other - something from the West Coast - I can't remember. I declined, I said something about preferring the company of a good book." For the first time, his composure visibly cracked. "I should have gone with him. If I'd just gone back with him..."
Once again, Hughes wanted to reassure him, but merely continued with his questioning. "What time did you leave him?"
"I don't know. Maybe 9:30, 9:45, I wasn't keeping track."
"Then what did you do?" Hughes persisted.
"I went home. I stayed in the rest of the night until this morning when..."
Hughes interrupted. "That's not what your tracker shows." He watched the reaction to that bombshell intently. Neal's lips parted in surprise, his eyes widening as comprehension began to trickle in. It quickly became a crushing torrent of realisation. Hughes could see a multitude of consequences examined from all angles, theories cracked open and probed, plans of action formulated, shuffled, and reevaluated.
Then Neal leant forward, a new light of urgency in his compelling eyes. "Tell me," he said simply, but it was more of an order than a request.
"The tracking data shows you at Peter's house around 1:30 am. After fifteen minutes, you left in a vehicle, drove to the docks, then, presumably by boat, ventured out onto the Hudson River. You then returned home." Hughes stated the facts succinctly, sensing that they were straying into territory that would get the conversation summarily terminated.
"Ah," Neal nodded bitterly. "Not a very bright criminal am I." He thumped a fist on the table. "There's no body." He looked up for confirmation. "It's a classic misdirect. They've got you going in completely wrong directions. You're expending your manpower on convicting me, and I'll bet you're dragging the river right now for a body." Hughes gave a nod of confirmation for the second time. "But don't you see, I didn't do it. The tracking data was faked, which means not only are you looking into the wrong reasons for Peter's disappearance, but there's a good chance he isn't dead." His eyes were now blazing with hope. "If you don't have a body, there's a chance that Peter is alive. We have to look for him."
Ideas were now spilling out at breakneck speed. "The trail to the Hudson is completely electronic. I don't suppose anyone even went near there. So where is he? They didn't just leave him in the house. Maybe there's a reason beyond framing me. They could have done that just as well by leaving the body there."
Hughes must have looked doubtful, because Neal burst out. "I'd never hurt Peter. Come on - he's my friend." There was no innocent look, no open, artless smile, just wild desperation.
The door opened with a bang, and Seaton strode in looking displeased. "This interview is over. If you want to speak to my suspect again, you need to go through channels."
Neal ignored him. "Just look into it," he insisted. "Who would want Peter out of the way? Please!"
As Hughes started to leave the room, Neal rose as far as the restraints would allow him. "Hughes, just tell me..." he started, but Seaton stopped him by slamming him back into the chair.
At Neal's cry of pain, Hughes stopped. His consultant was hunched over, his one free arm wrapped around his ribs, trying to mitigate the effect of the violent movement. Harsh coughs ripped through him. Blood suddenly sprayed from his mouth, splattering on the table in front of him, adding to the stains already there.
"Jesus Christ!" Hughes hurried back. Putting a steadying hand on the young man's shoulder, he turned angrily to Seaton. "Have you taken him to a hospital to be checked out?"
The violent crimes agent shook his head. "He's fine," he insisted defensively.
The Chief eased back Neal's shirt revealing the angry bruises that were beginning to bloom in violent hues across his ribs. "The hell he is. You get him to the hospital right now or I'll be the one filing brutality charges against you."
He'd done his best for Caffrey, but as he left, Hughes couldn't help feeling that he'd let Peter Burke down by not doing more for the young man who so inexplicably had become the agent's best friend.
When Jones came in four hours later to give him the news that Neal Caffrey had escaped from custody while in the hospital, Hughes merely gave him a nod of acknowledgment and a list of people he wanted interviewed. Once alone, however, he walked slowly over to the window and spent several minutes watching the sea of humanity swarm below. He had forgotten to warn Seaton that that might happen. What a shame.